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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943022">hunger of my heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenniferwalters/pseuds/jenniferwalters'>jenniferwalters</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>L.A. Noire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Pining, Slow Burn, UST, um i totally forgot about a certain character...</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:40:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,976</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenniferwalters/pseuds/jenniferwalters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'sometimes, i'm terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. the way it stops and starts.' - E.A.P<br/>Violet Schulz was just trying to work - trying to work her way into a respectable career.<br/>Trying to make herself proud in a time where women weren't seen as human beings with thoughts, feelings, and wants.<br/>How can just another face in the crowd make her truly belive that?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Stefan Bekowsky/OC, Stefan Bekowsky/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m gonna,” Cole Phelps sniffled, then continued, “get a drink then head home.” </p><p>“Mind if I join you?” Stefan Bekowsky put out his cigarette, leaving the butt in the ashtray as he headed to the door. </p><p>“Knock yourself out.” Stefan headed out first, shaking his blazer around himself as he walked the steps towards his car. </p><p>“Where you headed?” He asked across the parking lot, unlocking his car. </p><p>“Mocambo,” Cole answered after a few seconds of consideration, “Seems pretty safe.” His partner chuckled in response, getting into his car and driving quickly to the Mocambo restaurant. </p><p>Cole managed to arrive well before Bekowsky, hailing a booth seat, one with a decent view of the stage. A petite young woman appeared with a tray held to her torso. </p><p>“Would you like anything, sir?” She asked in a sweeter than candy voice. Her full lips were painted a dark red, her eyeliner pointed perfectly. But she seemed too thin. </p><p>“Two whiskies, thanks. Both with ice.” Phelps held up two fingers and the girl nodded, giving a small smile as she walked off. Bekowsky slid into the booth seat a good 30 seconds later, unbuttoning his blazer and sighing heavily. The girl reappeared, tray topped with two glasses of whisky, two bottles of champagne and a bottle of wine (each with a pair of their respective glasses). </p><p>“Thanks, sweetheart,” Stefan muttered, downing his drink in one go. The girl disappeared, already at the other end of the restaurant in record time. “She’s pretty,” Stefan declared, and Cole sighed in response, turning his head towards the empty stage. </p><p>Cole stayed until the room spun, leaving Bekowsky to nurse his third drink on his own. The Mocambo had become almost empty as Stefan lamented in the fact he was still alone. Such a melancholy thing to think. He held his near empty glass in the air, sighing as he let his arm drop, putting the glass back on the table. </p><p>“Here you are.” The pretty waitress took his old glass and gave him a fresh one using the same hand; with a plate of steak and vegetables leftover from the night. </p><p>“I, uh didn’t…” The waitress raised her shoulders with a small smile, continuing to serve the remaining patrons. Stefan took mouthfuls of the steak (it was delicious) between a drag of his cigarette and a taste of his scotch. The ice bit his drying lips, making them sting. </p><p>After his fifth or sixth or seventh drink (he never counted), he decided to up and leave. He headed up to the front where the hostess was, taking his wallet out of his breast pocket. </p><p>“Done for the night?” The red-headed hostess questioned, wiping her hands on her apron. Stefan grumbled in response. “Your balance comes up to $3, exactly.” Surely, that can’t be right. </p><p>“Are you sure?” He managed to mutter out. </p><p>“It says here, $3. Signed by one of our waitresses. She never gets anything wrong.” Stefan glanced around and spotted the dark-haired waitress cleaning empty tables. He shook his head, paid the hostess $5 and told her to keep the change. He headed out to the street where he hailed a cab, almost falling asleep in the back seat.</p><p>• • • </p><p>After successfully apprehending Gabriel Del Gado, the two detectives decided to head out for an after-work drink. The Mocambo had been sort of a haven for the two, and they headed down separately, as usual. They ordered their respective drinks, listening to the live music performed gently in the background. </p><p>“Welcome back, you two. Enjoy your drinks.” The pretty waitress was back! </p><p>“Well thank you, Miss.” Cole grinned and she smiled back, going slightly pink. She gave Stefan a fleeting glance before heading the way she came. </p><p>“Hey, hey, I saw her first–” </p><p>“Well, technically, Bekowsky, I saw her first.” Cole smirked as he took a swig of his drink, Stefan grumbling in response. </p><p>Throughout the night, the two talked and made jokes as the drinks kept coming. The two were blast-out drunk, and ready to make the journey home. But, of course, they wouldn’t be going any time soon. </p><p>“LADY!” Stefan screamed, holding up his empty glass. It toppled out of his fingers, but was caught before it even passed the lip of the table. A few patrons had glanced over in disgust, but Stefan’s sloppy look was plastered on the waitress. </p><p>“You should be more careful.” </p><p>“What’s your name, pretty girl?” Stefan slurred as she set new glasses on the table. She wasn’t as polite, now. </p><p>“Violet.” She filled the glasses with a faint scowl and headed back to the bar, setting her tray down. </p><p>“Ooh, hoo-hoo.” Stefan crooned, downing his drink. </p><p> </p><p>“Men are despicable,” Violet growled, piling her tray up with drinks. </p><p>“Vi, don’t let it get to you. They’re drunk!” Simoné defended, carrying an ice bucket in her arms while she attempted to blow a strand of hair from her face. Violet sighed in response, tucking the stray piece behind her friend’s ear. Picking her tray up, she followed her to a patron’s table. </p><p>“Alcohol shows the true side of people. It’s disgusting how the sweetest people can change.” Simoné only sighed, replacing the ice bucket in her hands with the one that sat beside one of the men. She left, and Violet stayed to serve the drinks. She put on her best smile and complimented the women while pretending to admire the men. One – with a fresh rose-gold ring on his left hand – told her she was too pretty to be a waitress, and she only smiled, making up an excuse that she would begin to believe. The singer finished her set and Violet handed her a glass of ice water, then left back to the bar to continue her shift for the night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so.<br/>i wrote this years ago, and it's just been sitting in my one drive, and i read it every six or so months, and edit it as i see fit<br/>but now its time to upload!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br/>im scared!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br/>i love this fic!!!!!!!!!<br/>i hope you like it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was early. Much too early for Violet. She had gotten off work only 4 hours before, and barely had enough time to go home, clean herself up and have – at the very least – a nap. Now, it was 6 in the morning, the sun was a blinding sliver over the horizon, casting LA in a golden glow that could excuse the pain Violet felt. But no, not this morning. She yawned as she waited at the bus depot by her apartment, a magazine from the day before in her lap. It was a crime to wake up this early for a job. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she sat in her usual seat – it was only usual as no one else was up at this ungodly hour – her mind wandered. Was this the job she really wanted? Or was this just an escape from the mindless patrons and locals that tripped by the restaurant each night. No – this was definitely something she wanted to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And before she knew it, she was at her stop. Mr Lazarus, who had been her bus driver for the past six months, waited for her to get up out of her seat. “Thank you, Bernie.” She waved her hand and he smiled in his rear view, wishing her a good day and driving off as she made her way up the street to the morgue. The door was unlocked, the front light on. The sun was up higher than it was 15 minutes ago, and she didn’t see the need to have the light on. She switched it off by the door, turning to her left to her mentor’s office.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aah, morning, Violet.” Dr Malcolm Carruthers didn’t even look up from the file he was viewing to greet her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Malcolm, How’re you?” She took the seat he offered in front of his desk, placing her bag on the floor by the chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As golden as always. And yourself?” She yawned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tired. As always.” He laughed in his throat, turning back to the paperwork he had already started. He was a quick worker. Violet wondered if he ever slept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you should hold one job. You’ve barely been sleeping.” Well, that came from nowhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sleep is for the dead, Malcolm. You’re a coroner, not a psychologist.” Her wit was making an appearance; maybe she wasn’t as tired after all. He smiled, closed his manila folder and put it back in the open drawer by his head. He stood and Violet followed suit.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put your coat on, we’ve got some patients to diagnose.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Violet came back to the Central Morgue with lunch for Dr Carruthers and herself, placing it on his desk in his office. She handed a coffee to the janitor, Pate, then walked into the examining room, where Carruthers stood, talking to two detectives. Violet was quite familiar with most detectives that came in here, but she had never seen these two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet, good. Come here.” She rounded the detectives to stand by her mentor, and almost froze when she saw who it was. Those two damned drunkards from the other night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are detectives Cole Phelps and Stefan Bekowsky.” Malcolm gestured to the both of them respectively, and they gave her professional grins. Her blood boiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you need me to do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell the detectives what you know about…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lester Pattison,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr Pattison.” She took a deep breath, put her gloves on and looked over the victim. Late 20’s, barely any damage to the face, other than a fractured skull. Violet pulled back the cloth that covered his torso, revealing the bloody mess that once was. One detective gagged, the other made a noise and muttered something that sounded like “holy hell”. Violet gave them a scowl and glanced back at the body. Hit right in the stomach. She poked at the abrasions, spreading them ever so slightly with her fore and middle fingertips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to the victim?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hit by uh, a vehicle then left on the sidewalk.” Cole – the smart one – spoke up, swallowing thickly. Honestly, he should be used to shit like this now. Violet nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These are knife wounds,” She muttered, leaning closer to the bloodied body. She hovered her fingers over the cuts, counting them. “Three. I can’t tell what type from here.” She totally forgot herself in her world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knife wound?” Phelps inquired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, a knife wound. Would you like a gold star for listening?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet.” She ignored Carruthers’ voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you find a knife at the scene?” She asked, standing up straight. Carruthers covered the body again, while the detectives shook their heads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go and look again. Maybe it’s still there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On it. Carruthers. Thanks for the help, Violet.” Cole bowed his head slightly, uncommon to Violet. Two detectives left, Stefan giving a quick look and smile to her as they headed out the door. When they left, Violet sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they always this stupid?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Schulz, it’s quite easy to miss pieces of evidence.” Violet took her gloves off in response, dumping them in the bin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lunch’s here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>••• </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was six in the evening when Violet was due to her next job. She said goodbye to Carruthers, grabbed her bag and walked down to her bus stop. It was sitting, waiting as always. She stepped on, Bernie Lazarus at the wheel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you gotten off your ass at all, Bernie?” She teased, punching her card in. He only laughed, shut the bus doors and drove off. As Violet made her way to the back of the bus, she watched as a young man chased after public transport. She laughed a little, sitting in the available seat by an elderly woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Violet re-applied her makeup on the bus, a talent she took pride in. Her seat partner had to get off as she was pointing her eyeliner, almost making her poke herself in the socket. Violet moved her legs and said goodbye to her bus companion, who smiled at the courtesy. Violet finished her makeup and made sure there was no blood on her work clothes. All good.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another night at the Mocambo. Malcolm was right – even though she never liked to admit it. She needed sleep, and all this constant working wasn’t helping. She wanted to be involved in medicine ever since her father took her to the hospital to visit her grandmother, and then her mother. When grandmother was wheeled away, she had asked her father: “Where’s she going?” Her father, probably the most serious man to ever exist, replied: “The morgue, darling. She’s going to be roasted like a Christmas dinner.” He had laughed at that. Violet didn’t understand, but her mother hit her husband on the arm so hard there was a red mark on his shoulder for the next 10 hours. Then, when her mother got sick, she had asked her father: “Is she going to the morgue?” And her father shook his head: “No, not her. Your mother is a better soldier than I could have ever dreamed of being.” Violet didn’t get that either. In the midst of her reminiscing, Kitty snapped her out of it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi, get ya head out ya ass and serve this up.” The Brooklyn blonde ordered, shoving the tray under her nose. Violet took it, and headed to the table it was destined for. She hummed along to the music as she walked through the doors, and headed to the largest table in the restaurant: Mickey Cohen’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet, sweetheart, how are ya?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m doing fine, Mr Cohen, how are you?” She asked as she served the food around the table. Mickey Cohen, on the side of being a gangster, was the most polite patron of the Mocambo. He carefully complimented Violet, but only when she looked down. He always knew.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m better now that you’re my waitress. A round of drinks, if you’re not over your head in work.” He smiled – it wasn’t a pleasant smile, but a smile none the less. She nodded, held up the empty tray above her shoulder, then set off to the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A round of drinks for Mr Cohen, please Simoné.” The waitress gave a determined nod, and began doing what she did best. As Violet waited, the door opened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Table for one, thanks.” Violet heard in the lilt between singer and silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a reservation?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but the place looks pretty empty.” Violet recognised the voice. She focussed her eyes onto a familiar face. Great. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sir, if you don’t have a reservation, I can’t let you eat here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat? I’m gonna have a goddamn drink.” The receptionist, a bit baffled, looked down at his reservation book. Violet rolled her eyes and walked over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, if you’ll come with me?” Bekowsky raised his eyebrows at the receptionist and followed Violet into the restaurant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Best seat in the house, and a scotch. No ice.” Violet ignored his demands, placed him by the stage and walked off without so much as a hello. She returned to the bar and took the drinks that had been waiting, and headed back to Mickey’s table. It was going to be a long night.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The restaurant was on its last legs, and Kitty decided to send Violet home. She knew she struggled with two jobs, so she tried to let her finish earlier in the night. But since the Mocambo was so busy, it was difficult to appeal to all her workers. With only a few people still left, Kitty could afford to let her best worker off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Sim.” Violet yawned, walking past the bar. Her friend made a noise that sounded vaguely like a goodnight, but Violet was too tired to decipher. She pushed the door open with her shoulder as she pulled her coat on, making her way to the nearest bus stop that would take her home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey!” a voice called from behind her. She recognised it, even if she only heard it slurred and muffled by trumpets and baritone. She didn’t speak, only turned to accommodate. It was a waitress instinct. The detective seemed confused that she didn’t reply or just continued to walk. “Aren’t ya gonna say somethin’?” He finally said when he caught up to her (she wasn’t very far). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I supposed to?” The detective sighed, putting his hands on his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Stefan.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember. We met, literally,” She glanced at her watch: 10:25. “Eight hours and 25 minutes ago.” Officially.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember your name, though.” He was trying really, really hard to be suave. (OR he's like "Violet. It's Violet, right? It's nice." SHE: "Is that all you need today, sir?") </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet Schulz. Is that all you need today, sir?” She put on her waitress smile, and stood by for a reply.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no. I was wondering if-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could drive me home? No. You’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last to ask me. Please, detective. Can I go now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look – just let me take you home. It’s dark, it’s late – it’s my duty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you drunk?” The smell of alcohol was always pleasant to Violet. Her dad drank on social occasions, which didn’t come around often. But other than that, he condemned the act as sinful. He wasn’t a religious man – he made that clear when he returned from the war. The scotch that waved from the detective’s mouth was bitter, but so appealing. She subconsciously took a step closer.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had two drinks, all in the span of two hours while I waited for you to finish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How sweet.” She deadpanned, her voice thick with sarcasm. She was going to miss her bus at this rate. Speak of the devil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus rolled right past her, <em>and</em> her stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess I’m gonna have to drive you home then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was how Violet Makayla Schulz ended up in the passenger seat of Stefan Bekowsky’s car. The music was quiet, barely above a hum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Left here.” She muttered, and he almost crashed into another car. Oh, how she was glad he had drove her home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Violet. How old are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“22.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, young. I’m 26. What’re you doing as a waitress?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Serving people most nights, dealing with customers from hell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant. Which way?” He stopped at an intersection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Straight ahead. I know what you meant.” Stefan didn’t respond, just continued driving slowly down the main road. There were barely any cars around, which was odd. It was a Tuesday, and there should’ve been more people still awake. Violet blinked slowly, her eyelids getting heavier by the second. She shifted in her seat as Stefan asked for a new direction. She yawned, pointed in the general direction of the right, and blinked again to stay awake. As the streetlights turned into one strip of white, she fell asleep, her head resting against the shaking window. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>as i upload i think how small these chapters are</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Violet woke up in an unfamiliar place. Great. It was just like a movie. She sat up, yawning. Her clothes were crinkled, but at least they were still on. She glanced at her watch, her eyes clouding over. She blinked, and saw the black numbers on the cream background. 9:03. Oh, how late she was to see Mal! She threw back the covers and planted her feet on the floor, walking quickly through the messy room to the door. In the living room – which was just as messy – was a rushing Stefan, his tie barely around his neck.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are my shoes?” Violet asked impatiently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are mine?” Stefan tossed some items around, hoping to find his brown loafers – the ones by the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over there – I’m three hours late! And why am I here?” Stefan stopped displacing things and ran to the door, pushing his feet into his shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your shoes are by the bed,” He spoke without discontinuing his morning rush. Violet turned quickly, heading back into the bedroom and rounding the bed. There, placed not so well, were her shoes. She put them on, buckled them up and went back into the room. Stefan had tied his tie, put his blazer on and was sipping from a mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you around, probably.” Violet grabbed her bag she had spotted by the door, and left without another word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, hey, hey! I can drive you to the morgue, I’ve gotta go there anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again.” Violet groaned, and waited for Stefan to put his mug back inside and grab his hat, then lock the front door. “Let’s go!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want me to say, Violet? You fell asleep! And I wasn’t going to leave you in the car on the street,” Stefan interjected as Violet snapped at him for taking her to his house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You went in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>complete</span>
  </em>
  <span> other direction from my apartment!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t read your damn mind,” He sighed, shaking his head as he squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He glanced to his right at Violet, who had begun moping in the passenger seat, gazing out the window with a frown. He could see it in the reflection of the window. She was so damn cute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should’ve just let me walk home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not letting you walk home in the dark on your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Violet blushed at that - she was grateful her hair was covering her face, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that touched her. She played with the gold signet on her right ring finger, the one her parents gifted her on her 12th birthday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want a coffee?” Stefan asked, breaking the silence that had blossomed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Violet walked in quickly, and Carruthers was in the examining room. Cole Phelps was with him, and they were chatting like old friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Took you long enough!” Cole exclaimed. It was directed at Bekowsky, but Violet gave him dagger eyes regardless. Carruthers didn’t say a word, just gave her a welcoming smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I miss?” Bekowsky entered the room with dramatic flair, the biggest smile on his face. Violet only washed her hands while Carruthers asked her to get a file for the detectives. She nodded and left the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carruthers didn’t bother her about arriving late – in fact, he seemed glad that she had turned up three hours into her shift. Thank the Lord she didn’t have waitressing that night. Mal told her to ‘take it easy’, and just sort some files in his office.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She left at six as she always did, but headed to her apartment. She checked the immediate area around the morgue, and found that there were no detectives waiting around for her. She went to her bus stop, greeted Bernie and sat in her usual seat on the way home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was too tired to make something, but if she didn’t have something on the table when she woke up from her inevitable nap, she knew she’d be mad at herself </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lawrence next door. Violet went through her kitchen, finding only a sack of potatoes her mother had given her when she was in town. Yeah, potatoes. She peeled and cut the potatoes as the water boiled by her, her eyes barely open. It was a miracle she managed to cook without falling face-first into boiling water. She drained the potatoes, added salt and cold milk and mashed her concoction, leaving it in a covered bowl on the kitchen table. She headed to her room, took her shoes off and stripped to her underwear, then fell asleep on the top of her quilt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stefan couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her curled black hair, her eyes that were so dark that you could only tell they were green with direct light, her slightly pink cheeks that only got darker when Stefan was in the room. Maybe that was a coincidence. He liked to think it wasn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stefan, I’m going home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not the Mocambo?” Cole laughed in response, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not tonight, Bekowsky. You can go yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again? I thought it was date night.” Cole rolled his eyes and said goodbye, walking away from his partner. Bekowsky grinned, putting out his cigarette and getting up from his seat. He was the last in, and the first out. He rushed to the door, walking quickly down the steps and passing Cole on his way to the parking lot. Cole laughed again, and Stefan got into his car, driving straight to the restaurant with the pretty girl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean she’s not here?” He almost screamed at the bar waitress. She had long red hair, an uncommon sight in this neck of the woods. She was pretty, and her name tag said ‘Simon’. Huh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She doesn’t work on Wednesdays, or Mondays. Tuesdays are rare for her. Sorry, detective.” He knew she was being polite, but he was so upset. He apologised to the redhead, gave her one last admiring look then left the restaurant.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was eight in the evening when Violet woke from her nap, her stomach grumbling. She found the cold potatoes and heated it up on the stove again, hoping it wouldn’t taste horrible. She turned the radio on and sat in the kitchen, regretting making food at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she lay on her bed, the radio barely audible, her mind drifted to the thought of a certain dark haired detective. He was tall, handsome, well-built, and everything positive </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But something was off. She had excused the fact that he was drunk every time she saw him – he wasn’t like that all the time. Maybe she just hadn’t had the chance to get to know him. She had tried to appeal to him – free drinks, leftover food, etcetera. But then he just turned into like the others that walked in – drunk and just wanting someone to fuck. Violet sighed and rolled to her side, not dwelling any further. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i know these are really short, and i tried bulking them up before publishing, BUT ITS HARD!!!!<br/>but the chapters DO get much longer, which means more content. YAY!<br/>i do not believe in proofreading either so. take with that what you will.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Cole was promoted a few weeks after the Lester Pattison case, leaving Stefan on his own in Traffic. He was a bit upset – he liked Cole. Even if he could be a pain in the ass sometimes. Most of the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bekowsky, get over here!” His captain ordered from the front of the briefing room. Stefan picked up his cigarette and walked over to the front of the room where Gordon Leary and an unfamiliar face stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your new partner. Angus Malcolm, meet Stefan Bekowsky, the one guy in this place that knows what he’s doin’.” Captain Leary slapped him on the back and Bekowsky grinned, extending his free hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pleasure to meet ya, pal.” Angus nodded in agreement, a boyish smile on his face. He looked fresh out of college - ginger hair, freckled pale skin, and bright blue eyes that almost looked gray in contrast. Yeah - total newbie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, enough with the pleasantries. You two, head down to 8</span>
  <span>th</span>
  <span> and Hope and investigate.” Gordon headed towards the door, yanking it open with slightly too much force.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elaborate?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a four car pile-up with potential casualties. Go!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On it. Let’s go, kid.” The two walked in silence to the parking lot and most of the way to the crime scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Stefan, is it?” He nodded, stopping at a red light. He wasn’t used to driving. “How long’ve you been in the force?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A while. Nearing a decade.” The redhead’s eyes almost popped out of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A decade? Wow. Were you in the war?” Stefan gave him a side glance, turning right when the light turned green. “Sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I wasn’t. Just a bit of a subject change,” He chuckled a bit, making his new partner laugh along with him. “Tell me about yourself, champ. You can’t be as bad as my old partner.” Stefan liked making friends – life was too short to make enemies. That triggered something in his mind, and he made sure to achieve this new goal by the end of the week. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Violet was womanning the morgue while Carruthers was out, dealing with a Vice case. She sat by the phone, sipping a mug of black coffee. She wished she had a green tea instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello? Los Angeles Central Morgue, how can I help?” She had picked up on the second ring of the black telephone that sat near the edge of the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is Dr. Carruthers in?” The voice was scratchy, but phones weren’t very reliable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s out at the moment. Could I be able to help or would you like to call back later?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may be able to help, Sir. What do you know about cremation?” Wow, her voice wasn’t that deep. Was it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A fair amount. Do you have a relative that would like to be cremated? Hopefully they’re deceased.” Dead jokes. Good one, Violet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The person on the other line - thankfully - laughed,then sighed. “Yes, my father. He wanted to be cremated, so I’d like to fulfil his wish.”  Violet reached over to the desk, her fingers attempting to grab the pen and paper that sat on the other side of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me just one second so I can collect your details.” Her voice strained, and she managed to grab the items she needed. Her muscle tightened slightly, giving her an odd feeling in her shoulder. “Okay, just give me your name and contact number, and we can get started.” The person on the line complied, and Violet put her skills to the test. Typically, she’d wait for Malcolm to come back and call them again, but she’d been under his wing almost every day for five years. Really, she should be taking these calls anyway!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a quick run-down about what cremation would entail, the man on the other line thanked Violet for her help, and they bid their goodbyes. That was the second call for cremation in one hour. When was something exciting going to happen? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carruthers’ car rumbled into the lot, and Violet stood too fast, her head spinning and eyes hurting. She blinked hard and stumbled to the door, coming face to face with another detective. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, well, well. Who’s this?” The detective greeted, a smirk on his million-dollar face. Breathless, Violet extended her hand towards him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet. Violet,” She swallowed thickly as he shook her hand slowly, then she snapped out of her trance. “Where’s Mal…Doctor Carruthers?” She corrected herself, letting go of the detective’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out at the car with the vic. Are you a receptionist?” His smile was so bright Violet felt blinded for a moment. She frowned at his comment and stepped past him, just as Carruthers pushed a gurney inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet, take this one into the examination room – I’ve got another two coming through.” She nodded at her superior and wheeled the body into the examination room, heading back out to grab the other one waiting in the lobby. The detective stood on the sidelines, smoking a cigarette as he watched. What a weirdo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three bodies were in the examination room, white sheets on their alarmingly destroyed bodies. The detective stood by the door as Mal and Violet put on their protective gear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you still doing here?” Violet asked the detective through her face mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m curious on how this all plays out,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Detective.” Mal ordered in his stern voice, causing the detective to grimace and leave without another word. “Right, Violet, let’s get to work, shall we?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two began the autopsies, Violet acting as a scribe throughout. Mal had tested her on her knowledge, rewarding her with compliments on her work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet, it’s five o’clock.” Mal announced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So?” She glanced at her watch anyway, then sighed. “Right. Sorry.” Mal waved his hand and said goodbye, continuing the subsequent autopsies. Violet grabbed her bag and coat, shrugging it on as she headed out into the cold dusk. Thank the Lord that Roy character was nowhere in sight. Violet hopped on the stationery bus, sitting by the window, her mind pacing its own course. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Violet tied her hair up in a bun as she left the cloakroom, heading to a table that was previously empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good evening, how are you tonight?” She questioned a young couple. They fidgeted in their seats, chuckled some, then the man – boy, really – replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re good. I hope. Uhm, can we get some…drinks? Maybe?” Violet grinned, taking out her notepad and pen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s two cokes?” They both nodded, the girl a pale pink. Violet grinned and said goodbye, making her way up to the bar. She voiced the orders to the bartender, who made little small talk. She didn’t like the men tending the bar – which was more often than not. They were all so…dull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here are the drinks.” Violet turned and took the tray without so much as a grin, dispersing them amongst the occupants of the restaurant. Tonight was going to be long. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the ride, Stefan!” Angus spoke through the open window, bent over beside his new partner’s car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, enjoy yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure you won’t come in?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got a bottle of bourbon callin’ my name at home. See ya tomorrow.” And with that, he drove off. Angus was left outside his apartment complex, unsure of what to do. A little ways down the road, he spotted bright lights: the Mocambo. He had barely noticed it before. Given it was only seven in the evening, he decided to drop in. He had been hoping to join his partner for his first (legal) drink, but he had no interest. Angus prodded, but Stefan said nothing. Angus was shocked, really. It was Friday night! Why wouldn’t he be getting drunk out with pretty girls? Angus stopped thinking of Stefan as soon as he walked through the doors, heading to the receptionist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I get a table tonight?” The receptionist nodded, gesturing to the main area. He sat in a side seat, ordering a gin and tonic, but the receptionist just gave him a weird look and walked away. Angus watched her stand back at her podium, greeting more customers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I get for you?” Angus’ head whipped around so fast his neck cracked. He winced, then gazed up at the dark-haired waitress, pen and paper ready. God, she was beautiful. Her black eyes flecked with green in the dim light of the restaurant, like a deep-forest bayou. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, sorry. Gin and tonic, thanks.” She grinned, heading off to the bar. She returned a short while later, and Angus asked her name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet.” She seemed slightly taken aback, but recomposed, tapping her name tag with a mauve manicured fingernail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I didn’t want to be left without knowing.” Violet smiled, then left after an ‘enjoy your drink’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angus nursed various mild alcoholic drinks, speaking to Violet when she passed him. She was a very pleasant conversational partner. She was well-versed in medical sciences, but admitted she hadn’t been to any university. On her break, she shared a drink with him, going over her five minute rest, resulting in a berating from her superior. She left with an apology, heading to the other end of the restaurant. With his jaw rested on his hand, he watched her until he was told to leave – closing time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside was freezing. The late July air brought a chill with the wind, but returned its typical L.A warmth as it passed. Angus began to walk towards his apartment, but was stopped by the loud farewell behind him. Violet was calling into the restaurant, laughing as the doors closed and the light from inside disappeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Angus!” She walked over to him, still smiling; the dark night shadowing her tired visage. “Thanks for talking to me, that was very sweet.” He was a change from her usual patrons; a fresh face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no trouble. I hope I didn’t hold you back too much from work.” She only smiled, patting her hand on his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re very lovely. I hope to see you soon.” A bus rolled up a few feet away and she passed him, hopping on without another look. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>um its hard to think of cases for stefan to do. ACK!<br/>im in the process of editing some earlier chapters (i had written up to 7 i think?) to add some more bulk, but i think for the most part they're going to be quite small until chapter 10 onwards<br/>but yay! thanks for reading + kudos-ing!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Angus walked into work late. Alcohol was never his friend. He felt sick to the stomach, and threw up his breakfast in the toilet, making him feel worse. He clutched his stomach as he sat down – a small amount of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, buddy!” Stefan practically yelled as he sat beside him. Angus groaned, his head falling on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, what happened to you?” Angus turned his head to face Stefan, his face rather….unpleasant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I going to die, Stefan?” He asked meekly. His partner only laughed, resting his arm on his friend’s back as Gordon Leary walked in. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Violet hadn’t had a day off since she was 15. And God, did it feel good. She had slept in, and was to set out for breakfast. She put on her favourite day outfit, and went to her favourite downtown diner. She sat in a booth by the window, skimming through the menu on the table. In a span of 3 seconds, a waitress was by her side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can I help ya, darlin’?” She had bottle-blonde hair, her red lips pulled into the biggest, most genuine smile Violet had ever seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pancakes with hot butter and a small coffee, thanks.” The woman nodded, heading to the kitchen and yelling out the order. Violet gazed out the window, beginning to people watch as the bell signalling a customer sounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Schulz?” She turned her head and her green eyes met grey ones. Her face faltered, a scowl forming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ––” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, before you attack me, I wanted to say: I’m sorry.” Cole, uninvitingly, slid into the seat opposite her. She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her tongue against her cheek in annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, what could you be apologising for?” It was rather amazing how well Violet could hold a grudge: and for how long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cole sighed. “The other day,” The other day? Pssh. This was long overdue. “Stefan and I, we weren’t acting very…pleasant, you could say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could say a lot more than that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, and I don’t want that hanging over my head. It’s not like me to do things like that, you know.” Violet sighed, relaxing her posture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you ever come into my work and do that again, I’ll kick you out myself.” Cole shivered at that, cleared his throat, and glanced at the waitress that brought her Violet’s breakfast. She nodded and smiled in thanks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. Really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” She cut her pancake tower in half and poured the butter over, it melting into the cake. The woman yelled another order Violet only assumed was Cole’s. “But I’m not mad at you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not mad. At you.” She pointed at the detective with her fork, her mouth filled with pancake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, why do you hate me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t! Do you listen?” Cole held his hands up in defence, leaning back in his seat. “It’s your partner. He was…awful.” She grimaced, placing her cutlery down and sipping her coffee. Cole didn’t speak, and the bell over the door rang, louder than usual. "And he's been bothering me ever since." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Phelps, glad to see you made it.” Violet turned her head and watched an older man walk past, standing at the table. “Oh, and who’s this? Your wife –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, no. I’m Violet. And, I’m also leaving.” She finished her drink, standing up and shimmying out from between the table and seat. She slung her bag over her shoulder, threw some money on the table, grabbed her coat, and made to leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pleasure to meet you, Violet. If you’re not the detective’s woman, would it be inappropriate to ask you out to lunch? Maybe dinner?” Violet scowled as Cole grabbed his superior’s blazer sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My schedule is full up, sir. I’ll see you around, Cole.” Her composure was impeccable. Maybe it was those six years of working in hospitality. Cole gave a half-hearted wave as she left, making a move to push the door open. The woman who was to enter held it open as she left, giving her a smile. God, one day, </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>day</em>
  </b>
  <span>, to not be hit on. She walked down the street, letting her feet take her wherever. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan hated working weekends. Especially when it was paperwork weekends. He wanted to be at home, asleep. Maybe a bottle of whiskey by his bed that he could paw at every 10 minutes. Angus was on the other side of the room, a radio right at his ear, his lips smacking together as he muttered song lyrics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How ya doin’ there, kid?” The 24-year old’s head snapped up, his eyes darting the near empty room before he found Bekowsky, chuckling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. I’m doing fine. And –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be honest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine!” He sighed, his head falling back to its previous position. “I’m bored.” Stefan’s chair scraped against the hardwood as he stood, making Angus look up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This shit’ll be done later. Let’s get out of here.” He headed for the door, grabbing his hat and blazer. Angus followed, hot on his partner’s heels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’re we going?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The best place I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Violet had been called in to work. Not an anomaly, but an annoyance. She was in the middle of a nap, a luxury she had mastered in the past two years. With struggle, she sat up and changed into her work clothes. Stopping to make sure everything was in order in her reflection, she admired her face. Oh, how good her make-up was that day! A loud crack of lightning sounded, making her insides jump. She heaved a sigh, grabbed her coat, bag, and umbrella, and headed down to the bus stop. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you don’t mind if I invited anyone,” Angus muttered nervously as Stefan sat down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The more the merrier, I always say. Who is she?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you know…” Stefan tapped his temple in pride. “But, it’s not like that.” Stefan’s brow furrowed in response, and their lunchtime drinks were served. The server interrupted their conversation, asking if they were ready to order, so they did. The conversation was dropped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know Cole Phelps? You remind me of him,” Stefan spoke up, sipping his drink.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he an actor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! The detective. He was in the papers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Yes, yes I know him. Not personally, but I know him. Why do I remind you of him?” Stefan shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both young, blue-eyed Americans with ambition. And you both sailed up the ranks like it was a rollercoaster. Is this your friend?” Stefan gestured to a petite woman, walking towards the two with a big smile. Angus turned, smiled at her, stood and gave her a hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Layne. This is Stefan Bekowsky, my new partner at the LAPD.” She smiled and Stefan shook her hand, offering her the vacant seat beside the two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for inviting me, Gus. I hope you don’t mind me sidling in on your lunch date, then.” Angus turned beet red and sipped his drink, Stefan only laughing. “Hey, did you order for me by the way?” Angus finished his drink in one go, nodding as he put the glass down. Layne ordered a drink from a passing waiter, then began to discuss the weather. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t rained until she walked into the Mocambo. Violet put her things in the cloakroom, and wrapped her apron around her waist. When she emerged, she was greeted by Kitty, who was polishing a glass at the bar.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your boyfriend’s here.” The smuggest expression was plastered on her face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My what?” Kitty’s eyes flicked to the inner restaurant, and Violet saw him, sipping his stupid drink and talking with his stupid friends. Kitty laughed as Violet headed to the kitchens, hoping to avoid his gaze.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And then I look down, and there were two of them! Needless to say, everyone was a little bit shocked.” Angus and Stefan laughed. Pleased with herself, Layne smiled and sipped her drink. The two men were absolutely losing themselves. Many of the patrons glanced over in annoyance, soon going back to their own conversations.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hoo, that’s a good one.” Stefan wiped the tears forming in his eyes and he leaned back, catching his breath. The two calmed down just as their food arrived.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoy,” The waitress said after serving, walking off in a quick fashion.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet?” Stefan stood, following her to the front of the restaurant.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who? Oh.” She turned, her eyes half-open in displeasure. She crossed her arms over her chest as Stefan stood in front of her, his brow lifted. “What do you want?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to ta –”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drinks comin’ through!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to –”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violet, there’s a man who needs to be served, get on it!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got tables to wait.” She walked around to the other side of the restaurant, completely avoiding Stefan and anything he was going to say. He went back to his table and sat down, exhaling deeply.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who was that?” Layne asked, but Stefan didn’t reply. He glanced at his watch and noticed the time. He finished his drink, stood, threw money on the table, said goodbye to Layne and headed back out to his car to wait for Angus.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Violet finished after the lunch rush, slipping out after the usuals clambered in. "Enjoy your afternoon!" Simoné grinned, taking over Violet's shift as she entered the restaurant. Violet only nodded and smiled in response, heading out to the bus stop. The rain had heavied, surprising her. Inside, due to the talking and music and kitchen, you couldn't hear any weather – Violet always assumed it was normal LA weather. She opened her black umbrella, careful to avoid any large puddles that had pooled onto the sidewalk. She followed the grey trail to her bus stop, that dumb Stefan gnawing at her brain. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ring, ring.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Violet flung her arm over her head, slapping her hand on the couch-side table in search for the telephone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Running her hand over her face, she managed to grumble out a greeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mr Schulz? Is Violet home?" A raspy female voice travelled through the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"LILLIAN! It's me!" Her friend was silent, then cackled her witch-like laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Goddamn, Vi! You sound like shit." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gee, thanks. What's going on?" Lillian was hardly available to talk on the phone, given that she worked as a nurse in the Good Samaritan Hospital every day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was wondering," she was beginning to sound like her teenage self, "if you wanted to, I don't know, go see a film tonight?" It was almost an exact replica of Lillian asking senior Robert Young out when she was a junior. Except, Robert said yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so tired, Lil. Does it have to be tonight?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes! Violet, I haven't seen or heard from you in like. I don't even know how long." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lil––" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Please please please please please pleeeeeeease?!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright! Fine, come get me whenever you're ready." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm outside." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What? You can't be," Violet stood from the couch, stretching her body as she shuffled to the window as far as the phone cord would go, to look outside. It was so dark, she could barely see the street below. Sure enough, Lillian McCaffrey was outside, in the telephone box. "Good Lord." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can see you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now that's just </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Vi. I'm coming up now." Lillian hung up, and Violet watched her scurry into the apartment block. She put the phone back in the base, waiting for her friend to come up and burst through the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last time Violet saw Lillian was graduating year: prom, more specifically. Their group of four went together, dancing with whoever came over and asked. They bailed after King and Queen were announced (Connie Thomas and her crush: Marvin Grace), eating at a café and spending the night out. They went home at three the next morning, and Violet could never remember being that free. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Loud, repetitive knocks alerted Violet, causing her to almost run to her door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Violet!" Lillian screeched, encasing Violet in a hug. Vi reciprocated, smiling for the first time in months. "Alright, let go – wait, you're not even dressed?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, to be fair," Violet pulled away, "you </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>spring this date on me last minute." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pssh! Nuh uh," Lillian pulled a face and bypassed Violet, taking in the apartment. "Nice place." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, I guess. Anything in particular I should wear?" Violet shut the door and walked towards her room, flicking her short hair 'over' her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Something... sensual." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sensual?" Violet snorted, opening her closet doors with a flourish. Lillian always brought out some hidden eccentricity in her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sensual," Lillian teased in a voice mocking the upper-class community of Los Angeles. "Like, this!" She pulled out Violet's silk camisole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That is not for public viewing." Violet took it from Lillian, placing it back on the rack. Her friend pouted, slouching over as she headed to her bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Woah, this bed is otherworldly!" She sighed, sinking into the mess of blankets. Violet fished through her mass of dresses, finally deciding on a plain, knee-length black dress. Violet changed, re-applied her make-up and emerged from the bathroom, posing shoe-less for Lillian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ahem," Violet cleared her throat, but Lillian didn't budge. "A-HEM!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh? Oh my, Violet darlin', you look an absolute treat!" Lillian put on a Southern Belle accent, standing up from the bed and waltzing towards Violet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You think so?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Eh. It's fine. But, if we dilly-dally, we're going to be late!" Violet barely had time to pull her shoes on as Lillian almost sprinted out of the room, the smell of jasmine barely lingering behind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rain had subsided, leaving the smell of petrichor on the air. The lights from the lamp posts and from the theatre signs illuminated the wet roads, reflecting the oranges and greens back to the few people passing on the sidewalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What a wonderful picture," Lillian cooed, leaning on Violet’s shoulder as they stepped out together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Truly."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that Cary Grant! Ugh, he is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stud</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the silver screen.” Violet only nodded, her head leaning on Lillian’s for a moment before she perked up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, let’s go have some food! I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>famished</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finding a diner, the pair took a seat at the communal bar, both ordering an American breakfast with scrambled eggs. Violet always admired Lillian’s confidence - the way she acted was so independent. Violet could barely hold a candle to her - a psychiatric nurse, she dealt with the toughest of patients, the ones veteran doctors could barely understand. But it fit Lillian well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you not find Cary Grant attractive?” Lillian asked with a mouthful of eggs, holding a stiff strip of bacon up to her mouth as she chewed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just - he’s not my type! I’m more of a Flynn girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Errol Flynn! Sheesh.” Violet gawked at her friend, who only cackled in response, finishing the rest of her bacon strap in one bite. Breakfast for dinner didn’t last much longer, with Lillian pulling Violet out of the diner for a late night walk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning into Violet’s street, Lillian’s voice lowered to a much calmer tone. A good signal that the night was </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>ending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, you got a man – or a lady – in your young life?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course you'd ask me this," Violet sighed, rolling her eyes. She looked out at the dark road, slick with old rain that made the misty air smell fresh. "No, I don't. It's just Violet." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh." Violet didn't ask in return, as she now had other things on her mind. How could such an annoying person fill her thoughts so often, and so intensely? She shook her head in hopes of removing him from her mind completely, and focussed on getting home safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened the door to her apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her empty apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t a single personal affect in the place. Every piece of furniture it came with was in the place it was when she walked in the first time; there was no art, no books, no nothing. She never really had the time to spruce it up - maybe that’s why she hated it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, it was home, but it wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her mother wouldn’t come out of the kitchen wiping her hands, asking her how her day was. Her father wouldn’t be sitting on the sofa listening to the music on the radio. It was just, Violet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finding a bottle of shiraz in the fridge, she held it up to the light in an attempt to determine how much was left. Enough to help her sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you to everyone who has read so far! i know this fandom is a bit dead but i appreciate everyone who has clicked &lt;3 i am in the process of sort of editing but hope to keep updating every couple of days (: until i run out of chapters. WEW</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stefan yawned as he walked into the briefing room, taking the available seat beside his partner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Now that we're all here, we can start." Leary began, outlining the various crimes that sprung up within the past 12 hours or so. Angus and Stefan were assigned with a hit and run, and headed out the second Leary finished speaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aah, a classic." Stefan settled in the passenger seat, rolling the window down to let in the Los Angeles heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For what?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, why is a hit and run a 'classic'?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because! Happens every day. Angry wife runs over the husband, blah blah blah." Angus dropped the subject, driving to their destination on Sunset Boulevard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waiting, on the sidewalk, was a mangled female body, blonde hair messed and sticking to her bright red face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ew." Angus' face scrunched up, and he wandered off to scrounge for evidence. It was times like these that Stefan missed Cole. He would take the initiative, search high and low for clues, ask all the right questions. Man, Stefan was really lazy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carruthers was already gone by the time Violet arrived at the morgue. She had treated herself to a sleep in (courtesy of Lillian), but had rushed her ass off to get to work by 8. Given that she was alone, she could devour her coffee and pancakes, that were both only slightly cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm returned with a corpse of a woman, her corn yellow hair shining in the fluorescent light, her eyes swollen and covered in crimson, crusted blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Poor girl," Violet muttered, her dark eyes canvassing the body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're awfully sincere today." Malcolm wiped his hands on a nearby towel, glancing over his shoulder at the young woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh? I actually slept for a decent amount of time." Violet snapped on some plastic gloves after tying her straight strands away from her face, placing a cloth mask over her nose and mouth afterwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"See? What did I tell you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To get you a cup of coffee." Mal only sighed, revealing a small smirk that Violet had grown accustomed to. She grinned back, and the pair began the identification process. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The detectives are coming in," Malcolm announced as Violet was finishing writing the autopsy report.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh. Who are they?" She hoped it wasn’t you-know-who.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a surprise." Mal tapped his nose and went back to his office, leaving the woman puzzled. She glanced back down at the clipboard, almost forgetting about the detectives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, the dynamic duo walked in, heading straight for the room Violet was still in. She glanced up, looking down again before registering who it was. Damnit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Violet, they're––" Mal began to call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," She responded, her eyes not leaving Stefan's. "I'm guessing you want this." She held up the file in her hand, ready to throw it across the room at his head. Violet sighed, walked over, and handed the report to Stefan, who nodded in thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, I'm going to...talk to..." It was Angus. He backed out of the room, and Violet made the move to follow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, Violet, let me talk." She looked him straight in his eyes, almost as if she were trying to make his head explode. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What could you possibly have to say to me?" She crossed her arms, moving her weight to one leg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whatever I did – to make you hate me – I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry, Violet. I don't want you hating me." Silence fell over the two. Mal and Angus couldn't even be heard, like they were waiting for this confrontation to happen. "Violet?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can I make it up to you in any way?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If it'll get you to leave me alone." Stefan sighed, slumping over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"One date?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A </span>
  <em>
    <span>date</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." Violet exhaled heavily, looking at the dead woman, as if she were to give her some much needed life advice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stefan – just, just go do your job." She moved past him, heading to the front door. She attempted a subtle glance over her shoulder, but as it turned out, Stefan didn't follow. Violet headed down the street for a much-needed walk around the block, hoping to return after the detectives left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cleaning up for the end of the day, Violet checked her appearance in her compact mirror, making sure she was presentable for her night shift. She said goodbye to Mal, promising to be at the morgue in the early morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The detectives drove through Downtown LA towards the Wilshire precinct, Stefan aggressively puffing on a cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s she?” Angus inquired after an awkward silence had encapsulated them in the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wasn’t she the waitress at --”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angus - I’m not really in the mood right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Bekowsky.” The radio crackled alive, the dispatcher’s voice almost making the detectives jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any Central unit, a 487 occurring on South Broadway unit to handle, code 3, identify.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Car 29K, go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Car 29 King, a 487 has been reported in progress on South Broadway, heading south towards Venice Boulevard. Code 3.” Stefan switched the siren on in his car, and pressed heavily on the gas pedal, weaving through traffic as he raced to catch the robber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s a 487?” Angus asked over the siren, his hand gripping the top of the open window frame to stay steady in Stefan’s car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some punk’s stolen a car. You might have to shoot out his tires.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean what? Aren’t you a cop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but --” He looked over at Stefan, a scowl on his face. Angus decided to keep tight lipped, only nodding as he looked forward through the windshield. “There!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A car swerving through traffic was not far ahead of the detectives, and Stefan stepped on the gas to try and close the distance. Car chases were always intense - sure, Stefan had had his fair share of them, some ending well, others ending horribly for everyone in the vicinity. But since being paired with Cole for a month, he hadn’t needed to be behind the wheel, or even behind a gun. So while he wasn’t unsure of himself, he was a bit nervous how things would turn out with a newbie in the passenger seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not slowing down - lean out the window and aim for his tyres.” Angus took a deep breath in and out, moving his head and right arm out of the window, the wind pushing his face back and blocking his ears. But he kept his eyes on the car thief, stabilised his revolver in both hands, aimed, and fired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, great shot, kid!” A couple more shots, and the car spun out, almost turning over itself on the road. But it stopped, and the detectives could pull up nearby, ready to apprehend the thief. That definitely cleared Stefan’s mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Violet hoped Stefan would forget about the whole date thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if she would go out with him! After his piss-poor apology, after not even recognising the way he acted was rude. She rolled her eyes, and her bus partner frowned at her, seeming to believe she was annoyed at her. Violet’s thoughts were clouded with Stefan trying to save his own ass, and she almost missed her stop at the Mocambo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Considering it was Wednesday, the club was relatively quiet. Mickey Cohen was at his usual table with his usual cronies, but he didn’t seem to be conducting any business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afternoon, Violet,” Kitty greeted as she entered the dining room, carrying a tray of empty glasses back across to the bartender.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Kitty.” Violet tied up her apron across her waist, following her lead waitress for the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How you doin’, Vi?” Kitty managed to ask after the dinner rush subsided, and they cleared a table together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Just...over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Men.” Kitty laughed at that, carrying six water glasses in one stack against her left arm, three wine glasses in the other hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the club. Who’s bothered you this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember a couple months ago? Those detectives that came in and drank a tonne?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d have to be more specific.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, doesn’t matter. Just one of them keeps bothering me. Wants to take me on a date.” Violet unloaded the dishes she had picked up into the dish area, placing them on a tray and passing them through the dishwasher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! Go for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span> thanks - I’m better than that. He was a dick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re too stubborn sometimes, girl.” Violet only shrugged, wiping her hands on her apron and heading back into the club, moving to change the table cloths on empty tables. She really wasn’t interested in entertaining the idea of going on a date, especially with a drunken detective. She could picture it now - sloppy eating, drinking too much alcohol, yelling at the waitresses to refill his glass, smacking Violet on the ass when she got up. She shuddered at the thought. Hopefully she didn’t have to see him outside of police work.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry i have not updated ): i've been just continuing the fic from what i've written and found some inconsistencies so i've been fixing those while writing up to chapter 16 (!!!)<br/>also this chapter had a 6 month gap in the middle of it, so i've had to break them up into two separate chapters. which was harder than i thot...(AKA im not proud of this chapter but alas)<br/>i'll be working on my two other in progress fics for a while, but hopefully i should be updating this one relatively often (every 3-4 days maybe)<br/>thank you for sticking around, i hope you've been enjoying it!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Violet stood out in the cold, holding her coat around herself, occasionally rubbing her half-open eyes. Mal had called down to a crime scene – the first one she's ever visited in her five years of working. A red-headed woman lay dead, face down, bare-assed in the grass, lit by swaying flashlights that canvassed the area. Violet's eyes wandered, settling on the darkened Cole Phelps, as he hovered over the woman, his fingertips barely making indents into her skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Rusty, can you point the light here?" His partner – larger, less handsome – turned and pointed the yellow beam, lighting up the woman's hair and back like fire. Red marks decorated her purpling skin, smeared into words that made no sense to Violet. Or anyone, for that matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"B.D. Any ideas?" Various murmurs were lost to the wind, that swirled around Violet's head loosely. She wished she was bald so she wouldn't have to move her hair out of her damn face every 10 seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Looks like...Violet, do you have any lipstick?"  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, yeah." Violet sniffled, found her bag on the edge of the scene, picked out her new tube of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Classic Carmine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and handed it to Cole upon return. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It looks...similar." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lots of things in this light look similar," She remarked, shivering against the cold that nipped her skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cole stood next to Violet after looking around, his eyes studying the body with intensity. Violet had to admit – he was good at his job. "Here's your makeup back." Violet took the tube carefully, her eyes not leaving Cole's face. She could see the gears ticking in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Time of death?" She almost didn't catch him ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, God – what time is it now?" Cole looked at his watch in the dim light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Two in the morning." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No later than midnight, give or take a half hour, 'cause it's cold out tonight." Her teeth chattered as she spoke – it was August and already cold! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you think killed her?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jeez," Violet stepped forward, looking at the body for the second time that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It looks like blunt force trauma – I hear you've come across something similar before?" She questioned over her shoulder. Cole nodded; the car headlights behind him made him look like an angel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It could also be...strangulation. Wow," Violet examined the faded rope marks on the woman's neck – this shit was brutal. She stood and moved back next to Cole, who nodded slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay. We've got I.D. We'll get back to you on the autopsy later today. Thanks, Vi." She only nodded as Cole left, his partner Rusty following behind with a tip of the hat in her direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you say we take her back to our place?" She asked when Mal returned to her side. He only gave her a sideways glance, moving to his car to get a gurney. Violet stood in place, staring at the body like they were an old friend. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan felt like he needed a master plan to take Violet out. He wasn't all that sure what about her made him so crazy. She was gorgeous, sure – maybe it was that she hated him? But would he stop liking her if she liked him back?  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stefan? You awake?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My eyes are open, aren't they?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Only after I shook you awake," Angus sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. He was becoming more lax with every moment he spent with Stefan. "Did you do your part of the paperwork?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Heh? Oh, yeah," Stefan lied. Angus only nodded, beginning to tap on his typewriter again. "I'm gonna get lunch. You want anything?" Stefan stood, pushing his chair under his desk. He couldn't stand another second inside, or writing a report he wasn't even paying attention to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, club sandwich?" Angus grinned, Stefan smirked. He stretched, grabbed his jacket and promised to return in twenty minutes, giving himself lee-way for driving slow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finding the closest diner, he walked in proud, holding his hand out for a handshake from the owner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My favourite Pole – what can I get ya?" The hoarse-voiced cook greeted, grinning a greasy smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The usual, Jim. And a club sandwich!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"On it, Boss." Stefan readied his cash, then took a cigarette out of his pocket, patting his pockets for a lighter. He poached the patrons, asking for a light. Good thing most of Los Angeles smoked, or he'd never get his fix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, hello there." He leaned against the booth seat across from a dark-haired woman, her green eyes oh-so familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In– oh." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Violet, honey, don't make me so hot and bothered with that look," Stefan teased, sliding in the seat opposite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you want?" She muttered, clutching her bag to her as if she were afraid he was going to steal it from her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm just waiting for my lunch – hmm," He settled in the seat, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray by the window. "What about you?" Violet turned her head away, and she looked genuinely upset – or mad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The same." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, are you alright?" His voice softened to a tone he'd never heard himself use. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, I'm fine. Just...waiting." Violet looked outside, her eyes darting between the odd passing pedestrian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bekowsky!" The chef called, and Stefan glanced over his shoulder, holding his free hand up to signal him. His sandwiches were tossed on the table, wrapped in plastic and paper. Stefan handed Jim his money, then turned back to look at Violet, who had settled into her seat some. Her eyes were trained on her hands, which were fiddling with a golden ring on her right hand, one he hadn’t noticed before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shouldn't you be at work?" She snapped, but in a quiet tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." She looked up, scowling at his smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Vi – why don't we go someplace else?" She had looked down by then, nodded solemnly, and awkwardly slid out of her seat. The two walked side by side in a civil manner – there's a first for everything! – and headed to Stefan's car. "Did you take the bus here?" He questioned, opening the door for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." She calmed down some, but was still quiet as compared to her usual aloof self. She rubbed under her eyes with her index finger, and Stefan’s brow furrowed. Poor thing, she looked so sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where are we going?" She sat up properly, looking out the window, recognising Hollywood as they were driving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't think that far," Stefan admitted, taking a huge bite of his sandwich, which had turned a little cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why am I not surprised?" There's the Violet Stefan knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes of silence, Stefan pulled into the car park of a small park. Without questioning, Violet got out, shielding her eyes from the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aren't you a little old for this?" She questioned as they walked to the front – it was a mini golf course! Two deformed hula dancers posed out the front, their plastic formation dented from vandals and small golf balls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Old? I'm only 25." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"God, you're ancient." Violet stood by the vendor, adjusting her skirt closer to her waist as Stefan talked to the teenager. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is there a couples package or something?" Stefan inquired, leaning his elbow onto the ledge that a Cola advertisement sat on. Violet rolled her eyes and walked off, hoping for an escape route. But she had to admit, Stefan was being awfully nice. It was a pleasant change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Unfortunately, there's no Honeymoon package, or any type of discounts. So, you owe me 10 bucks." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ten dollars? Jeez, I'd like to eat sometime this week." Stefan slapped the money into the vendor’s hand, who only smiled like a dope. He handed the couple two putters and two balls, and directed them to the first course. Then, they were on their own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you know how to play golf?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Grown-up golf? I'm a professional. Baby golf? I imagine you'd be better at it." A flirty-sarcasm wave had drowned Violet that day – but it was easier than being cruel. As much as she still hated him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lined up the shot, carefully putting the ball through a novelty windmill, watching it go through an opening and out the other side, falling into the hole with a delicate </span>
  <em>
    <span>clunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm impressed. I didn't know girls could do anything like this." Violet hit him in the leg with her club, causing Stefan to wail in pain. "I’m gonna regret that." He hobbled to the place Violet vacated, missing the hole in vanity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm impressed. I didn't know guys could do anything like this," Violet mocked, heading to the next course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Violet winning, the two bought cold cokes and sat on one of the benches under the palm trees that decorated the course. Violet patted down her brown high-waisted pants, dusting any dirt that had been kicked up from the golf course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've always wanted to come here," She admitted, sipping her drink. Oh, how she missed the sweet taste of cola. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How come?" Violet crossed her legs on the bench, turning to face Stefan's side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It just looked so nice. A few of my friends from elementary school came here on weekends, but I could never make it." Violet shrugged, looking over to the road. She picked loose bits of lint off her red jumper, then glanced at Stefan, who was gazing right at her. "Shouldn't you be working?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." She rolled her eyes and stood up, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Drive me home." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Say please." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No." Stefan crossed his arms, settling deeper into the bench. "Stefan," </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I like how you say my name." Violet scoffed, and turned to leave, making it as far as the sidewalk. "Alright! I'm coming," He put his empty bottle on the bench in front of the vendor as he passed it, unlocking his car for Violet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in silence, the radio playing the current news without a break for a song. "Another murder," Stefan mumbled as they waited at a red light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you know anything about it?" Violet questioned, looking over at him as the light turned green. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pfft. Don't know anyone in Homicide – other than Cole." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you talked to him lately?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's up in the big leagues, baby. He ain't got time for the small fry." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You got that right." He huffed a laugh, pulling into Violet's street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this is where you live?” He asked, leaning forward and gazing up through the windshield.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you know where to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair walked into the apartment building, Violet a little confused as to why Stefan was following her, but she didn’t say anything. They quietly walked up the staircases until they reached the third floor, Stefan lighting a cigarette as they walked down to her home - 314.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How was that date?" He asked, just as she dropped her keys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that counted? I guess you can leave me alone now."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come on, Violet–" She closed the door behind herself, leaving him alone in the hall. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>dis very small....i sorry....but it was the other half of chapter 6 T-T embarrassing............<br/>i wrote this scene YEARS ago. so sorry if its weird. i hope you guys are enjoying this fic &lt;3 thank you for reading and i'll update soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Violet, what's eating at you?" Connie Thomas questioned as they sat at the bar after Violet finished her shift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's nothing, Con. Just overworked." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As usual," She kissed at her cigarette, blowing smoke between her teeth as it collected by the ceiling. "You've gotta learn how to have fun, Vi." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>have fun, just not how you do." Violet had been thinking of Stefan – there's a surprise – for the past few days, ever since their 'date'. She didn't know whether to thank or curse Inez for never turning up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should try it some time, it may suit you." Connie tipped back a shot of whiskey, pouring another as soon as the glass came back into contact with the table. Her dark skin glowed gold in the restaurant, giving off a welcoming feeling – an uncommon sight with Connie. "So. What's been goin' on with my little German?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Jeez, I'm not that German," Violet spoke in a hushed tone, even though the only other occupants of the Mocambo were Simoné and Kitty cleaning up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my God, Vi! The war's over! No need to hide any longer!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh my God, Connie! I'm not in hiding!" Connie shook her head, abandoning the glass and drinking straight from the bottle. It was already half gone since Connie turned up within the past 20 or so minutes before closing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you seen Nez or Lil lately?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I saw Lillian a week or two ago – went to the pictures," Violet finished her wine, sitting up properly from her subconscious slouch. "Nez stood me up a few days back." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's probably suckin' some guys cock for all we know –" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Connie!" The dark girl only laughed, taking another swig of whiskey. She could really hold her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In a romantic way, of course. That Inez sure knows how to reel 'em in. I'm jealous of her prowess." Violet only sighed, shaking her head. Connie was very blunt, in her own way. No one was off limits to her. "So what'd you do when you realised she wasn't comin' your way?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, I...went to work." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No you </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I did, Connie." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Vi, we've been friends since the Dark Ages – I know you're lying." How was she so good at this? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Violet sighed, "I went out with someone else instead." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Another woman? My, my, Violet Schulz is a lesbian!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure, whatever." She was digging her damn grave in that restaurant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A man! Hoo-hoo! What's that bastard's name, huh? What's he do? Do you looove him?" She crooned, cradling the whiskey bottle and kissing its neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?! Was it that detective?" Simoné called from across the restaurant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No!" Everyone was against Violet, and has been since the beginning! Simoné and Connie yelped in enthusiasm, the latter running over to ask about the fabled detective. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's alright, honey. I'll protect your secret," Kitty tapped her nose and winked as she passed behind Violet, making her sigh in annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The thought that he fucked up again kept eating at his brain, the nagging feeling that Violet hated him even more would not subside. Work barely kept him occupied – it was all boring paperwork that Angus did most of, anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of the kid, he'd come a long way from being a shy college graduate – he'd turned into a little Stefan of sorts, even with only the two year age difference. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What're you thinking of?" The kid inquired as the two drove from a crime scene involving an abandoned car. Stefan felt like shooting himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nothing of your interest." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't know that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hmm." The two fell into silence, Stefan yelling into traffic at a red light. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Look who showed up," Violet remarked, crossing her arms over her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know, I know - I feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I didn't make it the other day," Inez pouted as she sat across from Violet, putting her hands on her blushing cheeks to cool the heat. "I'm so sorry Vi; lunch's on me!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, I forgive you." Inez cheered, picking up the lunch menu that sat in front of Violet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How have you been, darling? I hope you weren't too upset," </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine, Nez – don't worry about it." Inez pouted again, then settled her expression to her resting nice-face as she perused the menu. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What're you getting?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uhh, I was just gonna get duck on rice with some vegetables," Violet gazed outside as she spoke, the thunder cracking in the sky spooking her slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's</span>
  <em>
    <span> such</span>
  </em>
  <span> a good dish...I think I'll get," Inez trailed off, leaving Violet to read through the beverages menu again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you two ready to order?" A teenage girl stood at their table, notepad and pencil in hand. She was so young, yet looked so overworked. Poor thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes! I'll have...actually, Violet, you go first." Inez's head went back to the menu, studying it for the fourth time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, alright – just the duck on rice. And a bowl of steamed vegetables." She smiled at the girl, and turned her attention to a muttering Inez. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry, dear...I'll have the chop suey. And a jug of water, too!" Violet only nodded at the teen girl who quickly scrawled on her paper and collected the menus with a small smile. "So? What's new with you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Violet shrugged, moving her napkin across the table. "Nothin'. Just working. What about you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gosh, not so much, either! School is going just fine, and I've gotten a nice job nearby! Near the school, that is." Inez was studying biology at UCLA, and Violet wouldn't be surprised if she was top of the class. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>be surprised if she was failing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where do you work?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just a nice little dress shop. The tailor's teaching me some nifty tricks." Inez tapped her nose and raised her eyebrows, a small smile creeping on her lips. Violet giggled a little, fixing her posture. "Are you still working at the morgue?" She was so chipper about everything, it was intoxicating more than annoying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah. It's fun." Fun? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's wonderful to hear!" By then their food had arrived, steaming hot on plastic plates. The two girls thanked their waitress, and dug in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You got a boyfriend?" Violet inquired after they finished eating and laughing, letting her meal settle in her stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sort of? He's...a couple of years older, works at a diner. He's studying to be a lawyer," she winked, then continued to speak. "And he's real nice, gives me free drinks sometimes when I go after class." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That’s his only redeemable trait?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Violet! You're so negative." Inez slapped her friend on the arm playfully, furrowing her brow with a smile. "No – he asks me how I'm doing, and we've been out together...but always with other people. Violet, what should I do?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Miss Debonair herself, asking little ol' me for some love advice? I never thought I'd see the day." Inez frowned for real this time, crossing her arms over her pink sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What do you want me to say? I've been single my whole life." That was true! The other three girls in the group had at least two boyfriends in high school – Lillian even had a stint with a girl from Santa Monica – leaving Violet in the dust. She didn't care about boys, but it still would've been nice to be pursued. People always thought she was 'too thin' or 'too mean' - she wasn't that mean, not compared to Connie at least. Well, without boys she could blossom into the smart, sophisticated, pretty one. And that was just fine with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're grounded – not in the clouds, like I am. Should I ask him out?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You taking initiative? Do it. He'll like it." She hoped. The two fell into a comfortable silence, Inez reading through the menu again as Violet people-watched. Her eyes fell to her watch and noted the time: 3:06. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Christ! I've got study to do! Sorry to leave you, Vi." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No worries, Nez!" Inez rushed to the counter to pay the teenage cashier for the two women, then followed Violet out of the restaurant. Lighting a cigarette, she hugged her best friend, kissed her cheek then turned and walked away with a smile. Violet watched as the blonde approached a dark Cord Hardtop, with a clean-cut man standing by the trunk. Violet hoped it was Inez's lawyer friend, not some creep trying to kidnap her. Violet watched as they awkwardly looked at each other then he helped her into his car, ran around to the driver's side and sped off into traffic.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mocambo was relatively busy that night, what with Mickey Cohen coming in to do his business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good evening, Mr Cohen, Mr Stompanato." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Violet, so good to see you, how are you?" Mickey stood up to kiss her cheek; Johnny only grinned with pleasure towards her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good, actually. What can I get for you two?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Same as usual. Can we get a meat platter or something? Cheeseboard? We got a few guys comin' in." Violet nodded, heading to the bar with the orders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How much wine can these guys drink?" The temp bartender asked as Violet leaned against the bar, her eyes running over the guests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You should see how much whiskey they get on their own." Violet turned to face the bartender, who gave her a charming smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you need a drink, Vi? You look run down." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, maybe later tonight. These ready?" He nodded, moving toward a new guest that seated himself on a bar stool. Josephine &amp; The Caracals began their swing performance, the patrons' ears perking up to the sound of guitar and Josephine's contralto. Violet served the drinks, just as a small group of LAPD walked into the restaurant. She grinned at them and they returned her greeting, taking a booth seat. At least none of them were Stefan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another late night, and Violet was exhausted. She lay on her bed in her small apartment, looking out the window to the tiny cars that drove slowly down the road towards Hollywood. She leaned her elbow on the window sill and just sat there until she realised she had spaced out rather dramatically, and fell backwards onto her bed, falling asleep almost immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan's home wasn't too far from the station, but he had to take the long way to drop Angus at his apartment. He pulled into the carpark behind his little 'village', he liked to call it, and walked through the courtyard to his home. Sound from televisions and radios could be heard through open windows, and yellow lights filtered through sheer curtains and splayed on the stone ground. Stefan opened his unlocked door, locking it behind him and heading straight for his makeshift drinks cabinet (an overhead cabinet in the kitchen). Popping open a glass bottle of whisky, he took what was left straight from the bottle as he undressed towards his personal bathroom in his bedroom. He was down to his last suit of the week, and he cursed himself that he hadn't been to the dry cleaners yet. Maybe he'd ask his mom for some help tomorrow. No, she was too far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stefan climbed into his sheets, naked – at least they were clean! - and almost fell right asleep, until a faint smell on one of his pillows hit him. He grabbed it lazily and pressed it to his face, falling asleep with the perfume of a certain girl he still hadn't figured out how to wrangle. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i didnt realise how small these chapters were..........omfg..<br/>they get beefier !!!!!!!! wew!<br/>i dont have much to say..other than thank you............................(:</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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